


Alone to Tell Thee

by Rubynye



Category: DC Comics
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:06:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But not erased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone to Tell Thee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impactbomb](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Impactbomb).



> _**Alone To Tell Thee (DC Comics, PG-odd)**_  
> [](http://impactbomb.livejournal.com/profile)[**impactbomb**](http://impactbomb.livejournal.com/) wrote a story, "[And a Million Deaths to Die](http://deconcentrate.livejournal.com/376303.html)", which started an avalanche in my head. This is the result: it's a sequel/answer to that story, so that one should be read first.

Title: Alone to Tell Thee   
Fandom: DC Comics AU  
Characters: Barbara Gordon, Birds of Prey; Jason Todd  
Rating: PG or so?  
Summary: But not erased.  
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, nor is their universe.

Barbara Gordon sits at a kitchen table in a basement apartment, typing on a small personal computer. It's industrial beige and looks like it was lifted from a cubicle somewhere, and the screen occasionally flickers as her fingers click over the keys. Barbara frowns as she types, a bruise on her furrowed forehead; her hair is buzzed short, the screen's light glints off glasses repaired with duct tape, one wrist is braced with more tape. One small window in the upper left corner is a blipping feed from the monitors above Helena's bed in Metropolis General's ICU. The Birds were hit badly this time, by the Calculator with all the Society's resources at his disposal, hit and smeared.

But not erased. Behind Barbara are two cots and an easy chair, and a door made of titanium and steel instead of aluminum. One cot overflows with Jason Todd, sprawled in sleep, fully dressed to his long overcoat, his hair scorched down to bald spots on his scalp. Every so often, Barbara glances back to make sure he's still safely asleep. She doesn't like Jason. She doesn't have to; he's family.

He came to her out of the ruin of Gotham, wrapped in a patchily burned coat, coughing from smoke inhalation, swearing furiously. He told her what she'd known for a day and a half already, deep in the pit of her stomach where she couldn't keep down anything but black coffee. Bruce, Tim, Alfred, Cassandra. Dick. They're all dead. By Deathstroke's hand.

Dinah was last heard from on her way to see Ollie; Star City's currently incommunicado. In the lower left hand corner of the computer screen is a window displaying four continuous attempts to get through over phone and Internet lines. Behind Jason, Zinda is draped over the arm of the easy chair, good foot up on the open cot, broken leg splinted and elevated. "Just a cracked ankle, Boss," she'd said with her usual smile, tossing her blond curls, and Jason had stopped ranting long enough to smile appreciatively, long enough for Barbara to press a cup of coffee into his hands.

Drugged, of course. Barbara thinks of Alfred teaching her that trick, and her cheek burns beneath a tear as her typing accelerates. When Jason wakes up, he'll do so slowly enough for her to get a few words in edgewise. Enough words.

Before then, she's researching the information she's going to give him. The JLA is scattered across the continent, fighting on fifteen fronts, but she doesn't need, or want, them for this. Bruce would object, but Bruce isn't here to do so.

The Calculator's last known position is a smoking pile of rubble. Spy Smasher is chasing Barbara back through the satellites, but she won't catch her. Not yet. Not before she wakes her team up and arms them for one more mission.

In the very center of the computer screen a window the size of Dick's thumbprint shows Wilson's current coordinates. Every so often Barbara takes a moment's break from determining how to kill an immortal man, checks that window, and thinks, _soon_. Then she resumes typing.


End file.
